The Brain Black Hole
by Phoenix Lumen
Summary: All around the world, scientists of great intellect were disappearing. We all wondered what was happening. I certainly did. My life changed the day I met Lt. Col. Samantha Carter.


A.N. Just a little something that could become more. Am hopeful for some constructive criticism.

I was 24 and had just completed my Masters in Mathematics and Physics in my home city of Birmingham, England when I first heard about the 'Brain Black Hole'. Scientists at the top of their field from all around the world suddenly disappeared. No articles, no lectures, no appearances. It was as though they'd quite literally been erased from the planet.

Dr Radek Zelenka, one of the greatest engineers to come out of Europe, gone. Dr Carson Beckett, the best geneticist to have been born in a hundred years, vanished. Dr Peter Grodin, the best British electronical engineer of this age, missing. Dr Rodney McKay, (PhD, PhD), one of, if not _the_ absolute expert on Astrophysics and Mathematics, untraceable. So many from a multitude of subjects; Mathematics, Physics, Engineering, Astrophysics, Geneticists, Astronomers, Meteorologists, to say but a few.

None of them could be found. Students, teachers, universities and colleges alike from all around the world searched for them, but none could be found. No message of them being dead, but it was as though they'd been placed in limbo. Uncontactable. Untraceable. But their absence was definitely noticed.

I was 25, and was over half-way through my doctorate in Aerospace Engineering when word of their 'return' came. As did the obituaries. Grodin, _dead_. Gaul, _dead_. Brahms, _dead_. And the scientific community wondered, '_what the hell happened?_'

And then came the articles in the journals. They were excellent, some of the best they'd ever written. But they seemed oddly...stilted...edited. As though there was more than was being written.

And then more went missing. Botanists, Chemists, Geologists, Oceanologists, Geographers. More and more going missing. Some people spoke that they'd been approached, but had signed papers, official documents, saying that they wouldn't talk about it. Said it was high-end military, and that's all they could say. Said that if you listened to them, it could be worth your while.

And then, around the world, it became the thing to look out for. High ranking military approaching the doctors, the professors, your fellow teachers, your comrades in academia. And, sure enough, slowly, from all four corners of the globe, they disappeared. Old names disappeared from the journals, new ones slowly writing in.

Some of those who had left over a year ago, came back to teach in universities, in colleges. They were said to have a look in their eyes, eyes which had seen the darkest, evilest things in the universe, and simultaneously seen the most magnificent, most glorious phenomena that could ever exist. They said that to accept could be both the best thing that could ever happen to you, and the worst. When pressed, they said they could say no more, having signed papers.

I was 26, had just finished my first doctorate and was about to start my second when I first spotted the military on my campus. A blonde haired woman, possibly a Major, had walked onto the campus surrounded by military guards. As she walked, eyes front and centre, those ahead of her fell silent, watching with curious eyes or fixed glares, while those behind her struck up rapid, questioning, whispered conversations.

She went to walk past me, and her eyes turned to look at me for just one moment. But it was enough. My knees trembled, my heart rate sped up, and black spots seemed to appear in front of my eyes. She had looked at me. She had ignored all the others who had looked at her, but she had looked at me. She had known who I was.

The bell rang, and everyone went off to go get ready for class. I collapsed against the wall, folding down until my knees touched my chest, and gently touched my forehead to my knees. Time seemed to freeze. All that ran through my head was '_she looked at me, oh god! She looked at me!_'

The next thing I knew, a pair of black pumps appeared by my feet. Noise surrounded me, but like a radio tuning, I managed to get a voice from it. I looked up, and it was the woman, the military woman. And she was looking straight at me.

Things happened, and her hand was out in front of her, helping me up. And I was calm. Something had happened between seeing her and touching her. And then I found myself walking out to the entrance with her, both of us surrounded by her guards.

Another bell rang, and I thought, shocked, _it's been an hour already?! _Students from classes up and down the corridor poured out from the classrooms, chatting boisterously with their friends, only to freeze up and walk around us as we walked down the corridor, still talking. Their eyes however, were no longer on her, or her guards. They were on me.

It wasn't even the students that froze. Professors, secretaries, cleaners, even the mail-man walking up to the reception desk as we walked down all looked at us. And she was cool, calm. And so was I. And that wasn't the most unusual part of my day.

We reached her car, or should I say cars. Three black, obviously military issue S.U.V.'s were parked right on the road, more guards around them. She walked up to the centre one, and as a young guard opened her door for her, she turned about face on her heel, and held out her hand again. I reached out to shake it, and as I did, felt the tell-tale feeling of a business card between our palms. She said something, and at the time, for the life of me, I couldn't tell you what she said. She nodded at me, and at the same time as we pulled away from each other, I took the card with me. Taking a few steps backwards, I watched as they all went into their vehicles, and pulled away.

It was only then that I looked at the card now resting between two of my fingers. _'Lt. Col. Samantha Carter PhD'._

And now all I could hear in my head was her words. '_We'll see you soon'_.

I was 27, and I had just finished my second doctorate. I was sitting, baffled, staring at countless papers on my desk, wondering just where things had changed. _Here's one from Harvard, another from Yale, this one's from Princeton, I'm being asked to teach at my alma-mater? _

As what happens after you finish learning, you start thinking about what you're going to do next. Logically, after doing something as expensive as getting two doctorates, one after the other, your first thought is usually money, as mine was.

And so came the offers once it was known that I was available and looking for work. And to be honest, I hadn't expected such a reply, and from such prestigious places! I had written several articles, had them published in the journals, but I hadn't dared to think that I'd become so known as to garner such a response.

And as I thought about it, I knew exactly where things had changed. Things had changed when I'd managed to stand up next to Colonel Carter, and not hyperventilate. Her card still burned a hole in my wallet, details long since copied down to at least two other cards, in case my bag or wallet were ever stolen.

And as I thought about the card I wondered, could I actually submit to being sucked down the Brain Black Hole? To go to that nameless place, and do those nameless things that gave such a haunted and ecstatic look on the faces of those who returned? Could I take the chance that I would be one of those who didn't come back at all?

I mean, what had I actually done with my life? Sure, I'd learnt a whole bunch of stuff, written some articles, gotten my name spoken in the community. But was that _learning_? I had knowledge, but could I say that I had wisdom? Could I say that instead of just living, that I had well and truly lived? That I could die, and have no regrets? Could I?

And as I looked back at my life, I thought to myself, _'for a genius, you can be pretty damn dumb!'_

I was 28 when I accepted Colonel Carter's invitation. And despite everything that's happened since, for good, bad, or worse, I don't regret doing so.


End file.
